


one step at a time

by daringyounggrayson



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), and guess what? they get the hugs!, but just like a little bit of angst, fear toxin, fear toxin damage, toxin damage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:21:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24694432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daringyounggrayson/pseuds/daringyounggrayson
Summary: Dick has a bad reaction to fear toxin and Damian tries to help as best he can.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Comments: 36
Kudos: 240





	one step at a time

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I have had kind of a terrible week, but my lovely followers on tumblr were kind enough to distract me by sending me some prompts and this one actually turned into a short fic. 
> 
> This fic includes my headcanon that Dick's early exposure to fear toxin left him with some long-term health issues. If you want to read about it, you can do so [here](https://daringyounggrayson.tumblr.com/tagged/toxin-damage), but all you really need to know is that Dick experiences fear toxin symptoms on and off even without exposure, the antidote doesn't work very well for him, the exposure damaged his lungs which can make it hard to breathe during an attack, and he uses an inhaler that has a variation of the antidote in it which helps to relieve his symptoms. 
> 
> I think that's it? Yeah? Enjoy!

He’d seen him again. Bruce, last night. Of course, not really him. Because Bruce isn’t here so it couldn’t have even been him, but also not _him_ , because his memory of Bruce had been warped by fear toxin. And now that the night was over, he was left to sift through the memories. They meant nothing, sure, but the thing about people is that they find meaning in anything, including nothing. Dick does it well, too; probably the only time he can call himself a spectacular person.

“Alfred?” Dick calls, voice scratchy. He must’ve been screaming, probably scared the crap out of Damian, even if the kid would never admit it. Which only makes Dick feel worse.

With no response, Dick sits up and carefully takes the IV out of his arm. He looks up to see if it was just fluids, or if the antidote kept wearing off and he’d needed to be on a drip. Both, it turns out. Fun.

“Master Dick, my apologies, I was with Master Damian,” Alfred says, hurrying over to Dick before he can get out of bed. He’s pushing Dick back, gathering supplies to set up what looks like a blood draw.

“Damian okay?” Dick asks. 

“He’s well, albeit a little shaken.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“We'll have none of that.” Alfred pulls Dick’s arm out and wraps a band around it, then he’s swabbing the crook of his arm with an alcohol swab and jabbing a needle into it. He takes the band off and lets the blood flow into the vial. “How are you feeling?”

Dick shrugs. “You know.” He’s been exposed to fear toxin so many times, and the early times, they hadn’t even had an effective treatment for it. Now, it seems the antidote doesn’t work on him as well as it does on the others, even Bruce. And an exposure always makes him feel sick the next day—chest tight, headache, kind of nauseous. Not to mention feeling jumpy and on edge. Alfred already knows all of this, though; voicing it would be redundant.

“Perhaps you should rest a while longer,” Alfred suggests. “At least until your blood has been properly examined.”

“Sure,” Dick says, because really, he’s not feeling great. “But I want to check on Damian first.”

“Very well,” Alfred says, using his voice that says he doesn’t think it’s “very well” at all, actually. But he knows when not to push.

Dick makes his way upstairs, shaking ever so lightly from fatigue and residual fear. He hopes this doesn't last long, but he knows it must’ve been a pretty bad hit. Maybe multiple hits. He’s surprised Damian wasn’t taken down too—or maybe he had been, but his immune system doesn’t have the same response as Dick’s, so he recovered quickly like everyone else seems to. He hopes it stays that way, and if Babs, Jason, Tim, Cass, and Steph are any indication, Damian should be fine.

Dick eventually reaches Damian’s door, and he raps it with his knuckles. He waits, and a moment later, Damian opens the door. He looks up at Dick, and something like relief flashes across his face before it’s replaced with a scowl. “Hey, kiddo. Just wanted to check in after last night. You holding up okay?”

“I don’t need your concern, Grayson,” Damian tells him. “Perhaps if you had taken more precautions last night, you would not be in your current state and Scarecrow would have been apprehended more efficiently.”

So not well, was the answer to his question. “Right then. Alfred checked you out and everything?”

“I was able to supply my own antidote in the field, and Pennyworth examined some follow-up blood work to ensure it had worked properly. Which it had. Due to my quick response, I never experienced its effects,” Damian says proudly. It’s kind of amazing; even with quick response, Dick can never avoid the effects of fear toxin completely. “I was also able to get you back to the car before you could make a fool of yourself in front of Commissioner Gordon.”

Dick closes his eyes for a moment, holding his tongue. “Thanks, Damian. I’m sorry you had to see me like that, but you did a good job last night. I’m proud of you.”

He can hear Bruce’s voice whispering in his ear again. He wants to groan; he hopes this is just a mild leftover effect and not a sign that he needs more antidote. The fear toxin is way worse, obviously, but being on a drip isn’t fun, and it comes with its own side-effects. His chest is feeling tight, though; maybe he should find one of his inhalers. 

“Grayson?” Damian is asking, something fearful in his voice.

“Hmm?” Dick opens his eyes and realizes he’s slumped on the ground, hands pressed to his chest. “Oh.”

“I should get Pennyworth,” Damian decides, looking like he’s ready to run.

Dick shakes his head. “It will pass, just need a minute. ‘Sides, Alfred’s probably already on his way.”

“Is the toxin still in your system?” Damian asks instead, and Dick shakes his head, even though he doesn't really know that for sure. “Pennyworth was telling me of your chronic health issues that have resulted from over-exposure at a young age. Is that . . ?” _Why he feels like he’s been run over?_

“Probably,” Dick answers, closing his eyes again. He wonders how much Alfred has told him. He should know, for safety reasons, but. It would be nice to have some control over this situation. “Can you get my inhaler for me?” Dick could get it, but Damian sounds so helpless right now—giving him something to do will be good for him. “It’s on my nightstand.”

“Very well, if that will help.” 

Damian is fast, and he’s quiet while Dick takes the inhaler. He doesn’t know if he’s done this in front of Damian before; he’s needed to, but he’s always excused himself. Dick takes the puff and holds his breath; a few minutes later, his chest feels less tight and the whispers have settled.

“Thanks.”

“Master Dick?” Alfred calls, heading up the hallway toward him. “Are you quite alright?”

“He had an attack,” Damian says, tattles.

“It wasn’t an attack,” Dick says, because it wasn’t. Not really. “Just rough from last night. Did you check the bloodwork?”

“It looks clear. So as long as your symptoms remain mild, I do not feel the need to give you another dose,” Alfred tells him, and Dick relaxes. “Bed rest, however, continues to be recommended.” 

This is something Alfred will push for, and Dick doesn't want to be pushed, so he holds his hand out and lets Alfred help him up. 

“Very good, sir,” Alfred praises him. “Master Damian, if you’ll excuse us for a moment.”

Alfred helps Dick get into bed, gets him settled, and hands him a pill. Then he disappears into the bathroom, returning with a cup of water.

“What’s this?” Dick asks, swallowing it with the proffered water before he gets an answer. 

“Only some Tylenol,” he assures. “For the headache and chest pain.”

“Thanks,” Dick says, easing himself into the pillows. “Was it . . . it was bad last night?”

“You were having difficulty breathing when Master Damian brought you in,” Alfred tells him. “You required a breathing treatment followed by oxygen for a while, although neither were very effective until the antidote began to work. Master Damian seemed unsettled, so I thought it would be best for the two of us to have a conversation about your specific reactions to fear toxin.”

“How much did you tell him?” Dick asks, eyes closed and breathing already slowing. 

“I didn’t go into too much detail, but I explained the cause”—over-exposure to and lack of treatment for fear toxin mixed with a developing brain and pair of lungs—“and how your symptoms come and go. He was confused as you had been exposed before and hadn’t reacted so severely, so we discussed how this can be unpredictable and is often influenced by other factors. Including variation in dosages and time before treatment.”

Nothing new to Dick, but for a ten-year-old who had no warning, it could be a lot. Even if that ten-year-old was Damian.

“Hmm,” Dick chooses as a response. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Alfred tells him, resting a hand on top of his head. “Sleep well, and do call if you need me.”

And Dick sleeps.

oOo

The nightmares come and go. It’s not the toxin, but his brain is always like this after an exposure—even if it hasn’t been this bad in a while. Years, even.

Dick finds himself in a confusing cycle of waking and falling asleep, unsure of where he is and what’s real. He remembers Alfred, finding him in the hall and herding him back to bed, pressing an inhaler into his palm. Had he been sleepwalking? Had Alfred checked him for a fever? He felt cold, maybe they were chills. Maybe he was actually sick.

The next lucid moment, he found himself feeling the urge to run away. From what, he couldn't remember, but the nightmare had been clear once. He was at least certain that the only place he wanted to run to was Bruce, but he wasn’t here, and the dream told him he was also part of the monster. But that couldn’t be right, because Bruce could never be a monster. He fought monsters, and he won. 

“Grayson?” Damian is shaking him awake. It had been a dream, then. But. He was in the hallway? Had he run away? “Grayson, it was just a dream, you’re alright.”

Bruce had said those words to him. Not exactly, but close. And Dick had said them to Damian—it hadn’t been fear toxin that had caused that first nightmare, it had been after Bruce, and after Tim left. 

“I’m, I’m,” Dick mumbles, unable to control his tongue. 

“You’re outside father’s room,” Damian tells him calmly. He sounds like he’s following a script; Alfred had probably told him how to handle Dick like this. “You are having a flare-up. Do you require your inhaler?”

“I’m fine,” Dick says. And he thinks it’s true. “You can, I’m sorry I bothered you.”

“Nonsense. It is Robin’s job to look out for Batman, isn’t it?” Damian asks, and Dick nods. “Then as Robin, leaving you now would be a dishonorable act.”

Dick hums, unable to argue and unsure how or even if he should. It’s hard to think like this; he doesn't feel like himself.

“Do you require assistance to get back to bed?” Damian asks.

Dick stands, and Damian slides his arm around Dick’s waist. Dick knows he could manage on his own, but he’s dizzy. It’s nice not to have to stumble and fall all the way back to his room.

Damian only lets go of him when Dick’s sitting back in bed. He hesitates, watching Dick cautiously. Dick is feeling tired again, too tired to figure out what Damian needs. Maybe a dismissal? Could be, but Dick should probably thank him instead. This is a big step for Damian, trying to take care of Dick, showing that he cares about Dick. He remembers the first time he was sick since Damian came to live with him, and he had been quite the opposite of kind and understanding back then.

“You’re shaking,” Damian says. “Is that? Or perhaps you are not in the proper state to discuss this.” More script, Dick guesses.

“It’s okay,” Dick assures him; he’s happy to answer the question, happier that Damian feels comfortable asking. “But yeah. I think it’s just the adrenaline.”

“I see.”

A long pause, and Dick can feel himself swaying where he's sitting on the edge of the bed. He wishes Damian would spit it out, or leave if he wasn’t going to. Dick really needs to lie down.

“I am aware that you are very . . . tactile, and I have read that pressure can help ease anxiety,” Damian starts cautiously. “Do you think that would help you?”

For a moment, Dick forgets how terrible he feels and he can’t help but grin up at Damian. “Are you asking me if I want to cuddle?”

Damian scowls at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do not be childish, Grayson. I am merely suggesting what the experts have found to be effective, especially for people such as yourself. I would rather let you recover in your own time, but Batman and Robin are needed, and—“

“Damian,” Dick cuts him off. “I could really use a cuddle. Or whatever you want to call it.”

Damian scoffs at him, but then he wraps his arms around Dick. Dick hugs him back, squeezing him tightly. It does help Dick feel better, and he hopes Damian is sharing some of this relief. After all, they’ve both had a rough night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank so much for reading, I really appreciate it! I wrote it in one sitting and have barely edited it, so here's hoping it turned out okay. Either way, hope you guys are doing well <3
> 
> [tumblr](https://daringyounggrayson.tumblr.com/)


End file.
